The Beauty of these Woods, or The Rose of Allendale
by One-handed
Summary: Beauty and the Beast. During the Great Depression. In West Virginia. Sans magic
1. Allendale

**A/N**

I have long been fascinated of folk tales, and the way they change over time. Ever since Madame de Villeneuve wrote down the story in the way we now know it, the story - and it's moral - has gone through a lot of changes. It went from being an allegory for arranged marriage, to a story about looking past one's appearance. Of late, more and more adaptations have had the Beast _not_ changing, and changing the moral of the story to acceptance. My story is one of those, but for that the 'Beast' had to be biologically human for the relationship to work. This story also tells the tale from the Beast's point of view - it's _his_ story and _his_ character development I want to portray here.

Thanks must go to Alex Flynn's _Beastly_ for inspiring this.

 **Chapter 1. Allendale**

The town of Allendale, West Virginia, contained four streets and maybe one hundred residents. The town had been founded in 1764 as a farming and fishing commune (the Brightgush held plenty of fish, and eight miles downriver lay the larger town of Low Hermon). Surrounding the town sat several outlying farms, households, and homesteads, one of which belonged to one Ned Lainer. Ned was pushing sixty, a widower, and his son had moved to Charleston for work ten years ago. All his life he had lived quietly up at the Lainer smallholding to subsistence farm, and his half-brother, Ike, who was ten years his junior, had gone down to Allendale when he got married and opened the General Store.

What was unusual about this day, the 20th of April 1928, was that Ned Lainer had received a letter. That in itself was not unusual. What was unusual was first, its sender, and second, its contents. The letter came from Duke Lainer, Ned's cousin, and it was the first any had heard from him in almost thirty years. Duke had left Allendale when he was thirteen, sent back a letter two years later saying that he was in New York City, and nobody had heard anything since. And now, it seemed . . .

It seemed as though he wanted his son to stay with Ned for an extended period of time. There was no reason specified, only that in two weeks time, he would deliver Adam, the boy, to Ned himself with $200 upfront, and pay 50 dollars a month for the boy's upkeep. That left Ned to wonder what all this was about. He should be glad of the company and an extra pair of hands, he thought. And it would be best to make up a bed soon.

XXXXXXX

"It's sure strange." Said Ike the next day when Ned showed him the letter. "I mean, Duke leaves this place thirty years back and he wants us to take care of his son just now? I wonder what's wrong with the boy that he's givin' him to us. How old did he say he was, fifteen?"

"Mmm. Aye."

"Want Hannah to bring you up some extra food on the 3rd?"

"Oh, yes, Ike."

"What about my Sophie? Shall I send her up so she can help get the house clean?"

"You know, Ike, Hannah must be rubbing offa you if you're gettin' all houseproud about your old half-brother."

Ike laughed. "Well, you know how it is. We've been married near thirty years here. You were married to Lucy for forty."

Ned's wife Lucy had been Hannah Lainer's aunt.

"Yup. Forty years."

"Must be nice to have company and some help up there again, huh?"

"Oh, aye. Need to get the bed made up."

"Oh. You know, we worry about you, Hannah and I. You sure that you can manage, Ned?"

"I've managed before."

"Yes, but this'll be a green city boy. No tellin' what he'll be like."

"I know."

"Anyhow, if you want Sophie or Hannah to come up and help you, you just got to ask."

"I will, Ike. Could Hannah come up with some good food and could Sophie make up a bed in my loft tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, Ned. Sure thing."

XXXXXX

Ned Lainer's property sat beside the White Gill, which fed the Brightrush. There was his house – two rooms on the ground floor, a porch and a loft – the smoking-hut, the barn, the storehouse, the chicken coop, the shed, and a hut for the laundry. A garden lay to the left of the house and a pasture behind. Another pasture was five minutes walk to the right of the house, beyond the tiny fishpond, and what passed for the orchard sat in a fenced area on the other side of the White Gill. There was a wooden bridge that Sam Kingsley had built for him twenty years since leading to it. Finally, on top of Lainer's Hill, there were three large open fields which adjoined to one another.

And on the Third of May, 1928, Ned was just finishing up lunch when he saw a large black car fight its way up the slope and twist around the bend to sit at his front door. He came out to greet the car's occupants. The man in the driver's seat climbed out, dressed in a chauffeur's uniform, and approached him.

"Mr. Lainer?"

"That would be me."

"Paul Kowalski. The chauffeur." He handed Ned a somewhat bulky envelope. "My boss says that's the money and another letter. The kid's in the car; I'll just go get him."

In the back of the car Ned could see the outline of a man's head. Kowalski walked around and opened the car door. Then he pulled out two cases and walked inside.

With slow, defiant movements, the boy climbed out of the car. He had a trench coat over his arm, and he was wearing a pulled-down hat with a shirt and a vest. Over the lower half of his face, he had pulled a blue handkerchief. It hung loosely, coming down past his chin. Kowalski came out again and took a third suitcase into the house.

"Are you sure you'll have room, sir?" he asked Ned.

"I'm sure, now, Mr. Kowalski. I had myself and a family here alla my life. One boy's not goin' to displace me from here." He turned to the boy. "And you must be my cousin Adam." He held out his hand to shake. The boy didn't seem particularly enthusiastic to meet him, if the limp handshake was any indication. "Well, I just finished my dinner, but if you want some there's plenty left. Now Mr. Kowalski, have you brought in all the cases?"

"I have, sir."

"Well, if you and Master Adam want to take your leave of each other then you most certainly shall. Adam, I'll go plate up some food for you while you say goodbye."

And so he did. Adam slouched in a moment later with his hat still on.

"Mind if I keep my hat on, sir?" he asked.

"I do mind, Adam. And from now on it'll be 'Uncle Ned', not sir."

"Yes si – I mean, yes Uncle Ned." And he took the hat off.

Ned could rather see why Adam would want to keep the hat _on_. From his eye all up past his temple was a rough red mark in the skin, and all over the boy's skin were angry red marks – teenage spots – the kind that scarred. Then on his left cheekbone there was another scar, huge and thick and ravaging. It looked as though his cheekbone had been bashed in and slashed, had dirt rubbed into it, been clumsily cleaned and badly stitched up, then left to heal on its own.

"Why don't you take of your mask too? It'll be much easier to eat."

"I can eat with this on, Uncle Ned. I've practised." Snapped Adam

"Well, I'll give you a piece of advice here. We're goin' to be livin' together for quite a while and I'm goin' to see what you look like under that hanky. Now it's only us here so I'll suggest that you take it off."

"No." said Adam, and then raising his voice "I'm _not_ goin' to take it off. I am _not_. Not yet, not now. What's under my mask, it's not pretty. That's why I wear it. There – there was an accident, you see . . ."

He turned to his plate and dug in without so much as saying grace. Ned protested.

"Fayther never says grace." Said Adam, as soon as he had emptied his mouth.

"And what about your Mama?"

"Doesn't live with us any more. She got divorced a few years back. I think she married a chap from France."

"Divorce?"

"Yes."

"Oh." There was a pause. "And Duke Lainer sent you here because you had been disfigured, and he didn't want to see you any more?"

"What do you think, Uncle Ned?"

"How sad."

"Yeah, it's sad alright. Me, Duke Lainer's boy and top of the guys, sent to West Virginia because my Old Man can't stand the sighta me! Yeah, it's sad alright."

There was another pause. "I'm still not taking off my handkerchief, Uncle Ned."

XXXXXX

In the hours that followed, Adam proved himself to be generally uncooperative and surly. His first remark, on seeing the bed made up for him in the loft, was that it was too narrow. Then he had refused to muck out the barn, complained about supper, refused to wash up, and slunk off to bed when there was still work about the farm to be done.

Ned wondered if he should give him the benefit of the doubt, but decided that he ought to be firm.

So next morning, he clambered up the stepladder that led to the loft and told Adam to wake up. The boy turned away with a fast, jerky movement and stayed in bed.

"Well, Adam, if you don't come down in the next ten minutes then I am afraid that you shall miss breakfast. My cousin Mrs. Lainer sent up some good food yesterday. We've porridge with honey and apples in it, and some good fresh eggs the fowls laid today."

As it happened, Adam missed breakfast, but took the dishes without complaint and washed them, albeit somewhat clumsily.

"So what do I do, Uncle Ned?" he grunted

"Well, Adam, do you go to High School?"

"I did, before the accident."

"Would you like to return?"

"With a face like mine?"

"Adam, son, there are bigger things in this world than just your face."

"Well, my face defines my world."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, son."

"No, I don't expect you do."

"So you do not want to go to High School then."

"No."

"Do you wish to continue with your schoolin', though?"

"Maybe."

"You give your Uncle Ned a definite answer?"

"No."

"Come now, why not?"

"You wouldn't understand. You are a country bumpkin and - "

"Now Adam, that's no way to talk your elders." Said Ned sternly. "Just 'cause you lost your pride and all your fancy learnin' and houses is no reason nor excuse to belittle other people that they never had what you lost."

"Well, you don't know what I lost."

"Well, son, if that's the case, tell me what you lost, then."


	2. The Prince's Tale

**Chapter 2. The Prince's Tale**

Duke Lainer was a wealthy man. At the age of sixteen he had landed a job as a clerk in a bank and within three years had been promoted all the way to the top. He had worked hard, setting up his own business out-of-hours giving financial advice to down-on-their-luck, middle-aged Americans, and at the age of twenty-one he had landed another job as an assistant to a Wall Street stockbroker. It had been not yet a year before he had broken out on his own, and soon he was one of the wealthiest men in New York City. He had married into the ranks of the Old Money and his wife had quickly given birth to a son.

That son's name was Adam. From his birth he had been given nothing but the best. He had been well educated, sent to school with the children of other uptown New Yorkers, and given a private tutor to supplement everything. Before he died, his Grandfather on his mother's side would take him out shooting, hunting, rowing, and riding. A good life, you might think. Superficially, it was. The boy had friends – Jack Spinninger, Gerald Keller, Joe Campbell – and he was not unhappy.

He was also thoroughly spoilt and arrogant to boot.

It was now, in his Uncle Ned's humble hut, that Adam closed his eyes and for a long moment, he was transported back to that childhood.

* * *

 _1924_

It had been an easy enough business to slink away from Mr. Cotter's stern eye and huge monocle and slip down to Fifteenth Street with his friends. There were six of them, including him – Jack Spinninger, the son of a carpet tycoon; Horson Vanner, cousin to a film star; Joe Campbell, whose parents came from Old New York Money; Byron Bradford, who could trace his ancestry back to the Mayflower; John Keller, who was Gerald's twin brother; and himself. At eleven, Adam was the second-youngest amongst the group; Horson, who was nearly seventeen, was the eldest. The boys slipped down the street, laughing amongst themselves and filling in Joe and Byron on the latest hunting trip that they had been on. Adam's father had a long-time friend, Billy Glossop, who came from English old stock, and to please him, Duke Lainer had taken him on expeditions upstate which were a curious mix of English fox-hunting and American shooting (that Mr. Glossop had ceased coming to these events after the first had been lost on Duke, who had consistently taken his friends out on 'British Hunting expeditions' and invited Glossop every year).

Adam had made his first kill that year. He had shot a doe in the thigh. She had kept running, running, running, and then Jack's brother George had hit the animal in the front knee. Adam, who had been nearer, had galloped up and blown the doe's brains out.

There had followed, there in the forest, a furious argument about who had right to the doe. George had said that he had fired the crippling shot that had brought the doe down, whilst Adam said that he had shot the doe twice and the kill was his. After a while, George had charged Adam and tried to drag him off his horse. What had followed was George and Adam involved in a fistfight on horseback. They were actually almost evenly matched; George was eighteen and Adam eleven, but Adam was strong and plucky for his age, and by far the better rider (both horses had spooked and added their own dancing to the fight). So they danced around, yanking on their horses' mouths (they were riding English-style) and generally disregarding the sheer danger of the situation.

All in all, both boys were lucky that they weren't killed. George's gelding, though, ended up on six months of box rest, and Adam's horse went lame. Duke Lainer had paid the vet's bill and never reprimanded Adam for getting himself into a fight or putting himself in danger.

So that late spring day in 1924, Adam was boasting about how his father had paid the vet's bill immediately.

"Did he tell ya off?" asked Joe, whose parents were (at least by the standards of the group) infamously strict. If he had lamed any one of his horses, he would have ended up with a firm reprimand and a day alone in his room.

"My Papa" said Adam "never tells me off." He was boasting about that, too.

They passed a red-haired shoe-shine boy and Jack and John spat in his direction. Adam copied them.

"Look at that _hair_ , boys. Must be Jewish."

Adam knew implicitly, as did they all, that wealthy Jews were acceptable. More than acceptable. And that poor Jews were _not_ acceptable. They were free to be spat on and ill-treated, like the chauffeur (Polish), the delivery boy (Chinese) and Mr. Cotter (plain annoying and far too strict).

"Yep. Hey, did I tell you boys, my father's just bought a Rolls Royce, straight from Britain?" said Jack

"Been in it yet?" asked Horson

"Well, Mama didn't want me in it, and neither did Elizabeth, but I begged daddy to let me go in, and Uncle Herbert was there, so daddy let me go in and we drove all the way up Manhattan Island."

"Yeah, that's nothing. Last month my cousin took me driving overstate to Hollywood."

Hollywood, the site of the movies and the talkies, was like a golden light on a far-off Californian horizon to the boys. Going to California by itself would have been the biggest boast of the company yet, but going to Hollywood went far above that. Since Horson was the eldest and had been to Hollywood, there was no way any one could outdo him. Still, Adam was going to try.

"Mama says that she's goin' on a cruise to Europe in two months. She's goin' to take with me her and see London and Paris and Italy." (This was generally the extent of Adam's knowledge of Geography in 1924. In later years it would be much expanded.)

"You gonna see the Colosseum?"

"Yes."

* * *

For the next five minutes Adam was surrounded by boys insistent to praise him and enquire about the prospective trip to Europe, until they saw something which demanded their attention.

All of the six boys in the group, four of them – including Adam – went to the same upmarket school, St. Ninian's. The thing that had demanded their attention was the appearance of a schoolfellow of theirs.

Harry Kruger was thirteen years old, from a family that, by St. Ninian's standards, was modest. His sixteen-year-old brother, Michael, had managed to coast by with a lot of charisma and dark, boyish good looks, but Harry had no such luck. Pasty, red-haired, freckled, bespectacled and pudgy, he was the natural target for merciless heckling. He was trotting up towards them now on the other side of the street, carrying a heavy leather satchel and eating a pretzel.

"Hey, _look_ , boys!" said Spinninger

"Let's go!" said Adam. And they crossed the street and rounded on Kruger.

On seeing them approach, his eyes widened for a moment, then he stuffed his pretzel into the satchel along with his spectacles.

Fortunately, he wasn't 'blind without them', he just had trouble seeing much detail any further than about seven or eight feet away.

He could see who it was encroaching upon him now, and he knew that he could never outrun them. He folded in on himself and curled up around his satchel as they descended on him.

"Hey, you, watcha doin' offendin' the eyes of nice people like us?" began Byron. Kruger said nothing.

"Cat got your tongue?" added John Keller.

Adam wasn't much for verbal taunts, but he was first to shove Kruger when he didn't answer. And then to strike the bag where the pretzel and spectacles were next. And to hit Kruger across the face before he tackled him down.

If anything, Adam loved the joy and the kill of the hunt. He liked it even better when Kruger fought back; real challenge and a chance to wrestle and fight with all his strength. The boys rolled over in the street, punching and kicking and wrestling, and Adam would be lying if he said he didn't love any minute of it. Picking on people weaker than you was fun (and you were guaranteed an easy win), but a fair fight, where you had to work to win, was even better. Adam was an experienced fighter, and even against boys larger and older than him he could win, making up for their size and weight by sheer ferocity and stamina. It was rare that he did not win a fight, and when he didn't he refused to accept the loss and went for rematches until he won.

He won the fight, and Harry Kruger slunk off home desperately trying not to cry. He was sporting fine bruises all over his face and body. He was lucky Adam hadn't broken his nose or pushed him into the road.

* * *

Adam went home, told his mother that Mr. Cotter had asked him to go out when questioned where he had been, and then remembered that he had told Horson that his mother was taking him to Europe.

"And by the way, Mama, could you take me on a cruise to Europe?"

Normally, Mrs. Lainer would have acquiesced, but she had come home from meeting her lover that day and divorce had been on her mind all through the car.

"Darling, not now. Mamma – Mamma's busy right now – Ellen, will you take up my bag to my room and tell Mrs. Renton to make me some iced tea? I don't feel well today -"

"Mamma!"

"I said _no_ , darling, we can't go on a cruise."

"Yes we can! You shall! You shall!"

"Honey, no, this – I can't take you, Adam, and Papa is much too busy."

Adam let out a wail and began to protest. "No, no! Mamma! Mamma! I've got to have this trip! Mamma, I've got to! I've told Horson Vanner I'll be goin'! Mamma!"

In later life, Adam realized that at any other time, his request would probably have been granted. He was far from realizing it at the time, though.

"Adam, no. I'm ill."

"Aww, nooo! You never give me anything! You never give me anything that I want! -" and he proceeded to throw a fine example of a temper tantrum, which in later life he tried very hard not to remember.

Six weeks later, Father called Adam into his study. He was seated at a rosewood desk with a potted plant and the window behind him. Adam walked in and left the door hanging open.

"Close the door, son." Said Duke Lainer. Adam did so.

"Now" said Duke, as Adam came to stand before his desk "I've come to tell you that your Mamma is gone away to France and I doubt that she'll be back for a while. Now, I know that you like Aunt Bessie, but you'll have to refrain from visiting her unless you have my permission or until Mamma comes back."

"Mamma's goin' away without _me_?"

"Yes, she is, but - "

"But she promised that she was goin' to take me on a cruise! She promised! I'd told Horson Vanner that I'd go!"

"Now now, son, I know that you are going to miss Mamma a great deal. There's no help for it. But I am afraid, Adam, that you can't go visit her in France. She'll have to visit you here."

"You mean she's not takin' me on the cruise?!"

Duke Lainer sighed in exasperation. He wasn't used to spending time with his son, and Adam's complaining was unnerving him. Was it normal for children to be so demanding?

"No, she won't be taking you on a cruise, Adam. George, could you take Adam out?"

"She's not takin' me on a cruise!" wailed Adam, as George took a step forward. He wavered a little when he heard the tone of Adam's yell. "What am I goin' to tell Horson Vanner _now_?" Adam was yelping. George faltered, then decided to grip Adam's upper arm. He tried very hard to be gentle but firm, but you didn't get much experience dealing with children when you dealt with Mr. Lainer's affairs all day.

Adam squealed again, wrenched his arm out of George's grip, and hit him with his right hand.

"You never give me what I want!" he squealed.

"Adam, that's enough – George, take him to his room with you? And tell Mr Cotter he needs to be punished."

"Yes, sir" said George hurriedly, and applied himself to the task of re-grasping Master Adam's arm. Adam wasn't having it, and he wriggled around out of George's reach. He squealed one more time, something to the effect of how unfair it all was (and his father agreed with him).

George rushed after the young master in a panic.

* * *

Adam had to stay in his room until dinner, but the dinner itself was sumptuous. After Mamma left, Adam soon discovered that it was expedient to behave himself whenever he was in Father's line of sight, and that out of it, he could do as he pleased. Shouting at Mr Cotter, the housemaids, George, Paul, and Ralph, his father's valet, soon became commonplace. Shouting got things done faster and only Mr Cotter ever shouted back at him, so it was the logical way to do things. It wasn't quite true that Adam was thoughtless. He simply did as experience taught him, and experience taught him that nothing had adverse consequences.

* * *

It was shortly after Adam's fifteenth birthday that it happened. Duke Lainer was going 'English-style' hunting upstate with some of his old pals, several of whom had brought their sons with them. Adam himself had been invited, as he had been for the past several years. It was the second morning of the trip, and they had left the cabin into the fresh morning air dressed in tweed coats and with creaks of leather and shouts of men on a mission. Six minutes into the hunt, three deer were spotted. Two of them, sensing danger, darted off in one direction and were followed by most of the hunt. The other deer, sensing danger, darted off in the other direction and was pursued by Adam Lainer, Gerald Keller and Joe Campbell. Adam, who was easily the best rider of the lot, took the lead.

That year was Adam's first year to ride a stallion, and Geronimo was the fastest, most spirited horse he had ever ridden. He was in a canter even before Adam had asked for it; and now they were thundering through the woods after the stag, whose powerful quarters Adam could just see bunched up in effort to keep ahead of the hunters. A fallen tree-trunk was coming up, and Geronimo and Adam gathered themselves for the jump and soared over it. The deer, brought up short by the jump, swerved to the right. It was testament to Adam's riding skill that Geronimo could whip around so fast after it, and on they went. The deer was faltering now, Adam could tell. Any minute now, he could whip out his gun – he did so – and the stag leapt over another tree trunk, this one with sharp, ugly branches sticking out everywhere – and Adam followed.

Geronimo was already in his stride for the jump, and he screamed in protest. He tried to turn away from the tree, but Adam heaved on his mouth and tried to pull him round. Between Adam's heaving for the jump and Geronimo's heaving away from it, they ended up doing a sort of sideways leap next to the tree trunk. Crashing down on the outstretched sharp branches of the tree, Geronimo was pulled to a halt, whilst Adam was capitulated off of his back at an odd angle because of the speed with which they had been going. The sharp branches tore at his face, pulling of skin and flesh, and the side of his face smashed against a tree that the fallen trunk had been leaning against. He slithered down the side and when he hit the ground, a stone smashed square into his cheekbone, and he slid for several feet across the dirty forest floor before coming to rest.

* * *

A/N

For those of you who do or don't ride (or hunt), if Adam is coming across as extremely stupid and reckless in his horseback antics, he's meant to be. I used to ride myself, so I know how abominably stupid he's being.


End file.
